Thursday, February 19, 2015

I've avoided
teaching for decades. I was never very good at being a student – the
quirks that make me an interesting writer get in the way. I never
really liked school, so signing up for a life sentence seemed crazy.
Then Nalo Hopkinson asked me if I would be willing to teach a master
class in science fiction writing for this year's University of California Riverside Writers Week . . .

I asked if it was
a paying gig.

She said yes.

I said yes.

Then I googled
“master class,” which turns out is a class taught by “an expert
in the field.”

I only have an AA
degree. I though that pursuing writing would be cheaper than further
formalized education in the long run. Besides, a lot of my favorite
writers were dropouts. At least I didn't end up with a huge student
loan debt that I couldn't pay.

Am I an expert?
What do I have to offer that any basic creative writing class can't?

I submitted my
first story, and got my first rejection slip after taking a creative
writing class in 1974. I sold my first story in 1982. I have over
forty years experience writing and submitting fiction. I sat down and
made a lot of notes.

(Note: These notes
were just that, notes. Often not even complete sentences. Reminders
of this and that and funny stories to pull out of the memory bank
just in case I find myself in front of a room full eager students and
my brain fails me. Not good reading. I doubt anybody would be able to
make sense of them but me. They'd need a lot of work before they could
become something publishable or even readable, and I'm ridiculously
busy right now.)

Also somebody
needs to provide an alternative to the get-rich-quick,
how-to-write-a-bestseller scams out there.

I don't know how
to write a bestseller. I find most of them uninteresting. And there are a lot of people out there who say they know how to write bestsellers, but for some mysterious reason, haven't done it
themselves. Actual writers of bestsellers are too busy to teach
classes or give webinars.

Anyway, they flew me out there.

I was put up in Riverside's historic Mission Inn. It's a place
where you could film a low budget steampunk spaghetti western; you
can amuse youself just wandering around finding interesting
furniture, paintings, statues, flowers, parrots, bells, cannons, . .
.

At the university, I got
to see some facinating stuff from the Eaton Collection of Science Fiction and Fantasy, including
original editions of Thomas Moore's Utopia,
Brahm Stoker's Dracula, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan of the Apes,
and an edition of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 with
an abestos dust jacket.

The class went
well. Nalo's creative writing graduate students were there, and a
selection of others. There was also an old-school science fiction fan
who looked like he arrived through a time warp from a sci-fi con in the
Seventies. A diverse group, in every way. They were interested, and
responsive, and the time flew as I chattered away.

Turns out I had
way more material in my notes than I needed. One woman thanked me for
giving so much “good information.”

Then was rushed
off to give a reading of my story “Burrito Meltdown.” According
to the campus newspaper the audience members were
"Biting
back snickers, many were hesitant to laugh at the racial jokes he
presented."

Then
I was interviewed, by a student, then on video by Tom Lutz, who
organized Writers Week, then by a young freelancer who had me answering
questions as I powerwalked to catch the SuperShuttle to get back to
the airport.

It
was good for my ego, the students seemed to be satisfied, and it paid
better than any writing gig I've had in years.

Also,
it was all the fun of teaching without the pain-in-the-ass stuff.

I'd
be willing to do it again.

Ernest Hogan
has recently been told that he is “important literary history.”
Too much is happening in his life right now. He's hoping to get some
rest soon.